


Kaleidoscope

by MagmaticKobaian



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Psychological Horror, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Gen, Graphic Description, Hallucinations, Mental Health Issues, No Romance, Psychological Horror, Psychosis, also Swearing but have you seen the other tags for this thing, especially not Ed, no seriously, nobody really gets hurt but there's a looooot of gore, this is not going to be a very happy time for anyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagmaticKobaian/pseuds/MagmaticKobaian
Summary: Right before the right arm was torn from its owner’s body forever, Truth paused, considering its options. A better punishment came to mind.Nothing as petty as another limb, easily replaced by hunks of machinery and nerve connections. No, Truth thought, Edward Elric would be taught a lesson. Little boys who thought they could defy God, not once, but twice, had a special place in hell, reserved just for them.Instead of a chunk of his body, Truth would take a chunk of his mind.—Three years since the transmutation. Two years since he passed the exam. One year since the breakdown. A week since they released him from involuntary commitment. Yesterday, he regained his certification. Today, he has to tell the Colonel that he begins work again tomorrow.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	1. Rough Around the Edges

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Phantasmagoria: A Puzzle of Flesh, as well as my own experiences with mental health issues. I doubt this is the type of fic I can keep a regular update schedule for; I'll pretty much write and post whenever I'm in the right mood for it. This fic is kind of just me screaming into the void, but hopefully someone else gains something by me posting this.

Ed threw the doors to Mustang’s office open with his automail foot, relishing the sharp crack that resounded when they reached the limit of the hinges. Turning around, he slammed them shut again, catching one last glance at a room full of bewildered faces. Finally, he whipped around, shooting a death glare at the source of his misery. The bastard colonel merely smirked.

“I’m not sure what my doors did to offend you, Fullmetal, but it’s a nice change of pace to see you angry at things that aren’t me.”

Ed stomped forward until he was standing in front of the desk. With narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, he hissed back a reply.

“Don’t get smart with me, _fucker_. Why can’t I go on this mission with Alphonse?” He crossed his arms with a huff, tilting his head upwards.

Mustang’s smirk melted into a frown. He reclined back in his seat, considering the statement as if it were a polite inquiry. There was something mildly infuriating about his professional demeanor, like he was going over a routine subject and not fucking with Ed’s personal life.

“Because stealth is of the essence,” he replied after a moment, glancing at Edward, “and there’s nothing less stealthy than a seven-foot tall suit of armor. Is that a good enough explanation for you, Fullmetal?”

The colonel extended an open palm forward with a slightly raised brow, to indicate the ball was in the boy’s court.

Ed slammed his hands on the table, feeling his scowl deepen and his brow furrow.

“Then send someone else! Why does it have to be me?!”

The Colonel gave a weary sigh, and his head tilted slightly to the side. He looked at Ed like he was observing a wild animal who had barged into his office.

“Unfortunately, you don’t have a say in this matter.” That damn smirk was back on his face. “Besides, I think this’ll be a valuable experience for you. It might do you some good to have more independence from your brother.”

Ed leaned forward, tightly gripping the table. Every muscle in his arm was tensed.

“My brother is _none of your fucking business_ , so leave him out of this!” 

“Perhaps not, but you most certainly _are_ my business, Fullmetal.” His voice had a stern edge to it. He sat up straight, looking Ed dead in the eyes. “Technically, your brother shouldn’t be living in the dorms, seeing as he’s a civilian. If you’d like, I could correct that oversight.”

Edward recoiled, taking a step backward. His eyes widened, and clenched fists shook at his sides.

“I knew you were a heartless bastard,” he replied, lowering his voice. His gaze drifted toward the ground, and the wobbling distortion of hot tears began to warp his vision.

“Trust me, this is for the good of both of you. After all, your brother won’t have a sick fuck like you around to ruin his life anymore.”

Ed jolted and stumbled backwards, falling to the ground. His mouth hung open to reply, but his throat hitched, unable to produce noise.

The Colonel stood up slowly, completely soundless in his movements. His back blocked the flow of sunlight into the room, leaving Ed lying completely in his shadow. Black eyes pierced his soul and swallowed the air from the room. Mustang’s lips were turned upwards in obvious disgust.

“You weren’t content with just being a burden on your mother, were you? You dragged your brother into your sick little attempt to play God.” 

The expression had turned into an outright sneer. The man looked like he was about to vomit. 

“Why not leave him alone? Haven’t you already done enough?”

Ed tried to move away, towards the door, but a straitjacket constrained him, leaving him writhing uselessly on the floor. The Colonel leisurely waltzed around the desk, until he loomed directly over Ed. A vile grin split across the man’s face.

“Look at how pathetic you are. All bark and no bite, huh? The only thing you’re good for is getting other people to pay for your mistakes. Do you get your kicks off making others suffer?”

Suddenly, he felt hands on his throat, crushing his esophagus. His attempts to breathe met only a wall, and a pounding dizziness was starting to scream through his skull. Uselessly tugging against his constraints, he was powerless to stop them from suffocating him to death. A foamy mixture of saliva and blood began to dribble from his mouth, streaking down his face as he silently screamed to the ceiling.

“What’s wrong, Fullmetal? Does it hurt?” 

Someone was talking again. Ed didn’t know who it was anymore. It was deep and distorted, like it was emerging from the deepest pit of hell. It had a desperate, almost manic energy, relishing in Ed’s suffering.

“Good. This is the tiniest fraction of the pain you’ve inflicted on others. There’s much, much more where that came from.”

The world went black as his eyes were ripped from his skull. Hundreds of searing-hot blades pierced through his skin, slicing through muscle and bone like they were moving through thin air. They twisted and spun, winding and unwinding, twirling around and unraveling him like a spiral to his core. The stench of rot filled the air as he felt maggots worm their way into the grooves of his mutilated flesh, devouring it like garbage. Something cut his tongue out, and blood filled his mouth, pouring down his throat and over the sides of his lips.

People were shouting, but he couldn’t hear them. His name seemed to echo from a dozen different voices, mocking him. Edward, Ed, Brother, Fullmetal, Edward, Ed, Brother, Fullmetal, Edward, Ed— 

“Brother!”

With a scream, he shot up in bed, clutching his head in his hands. Curling up into a ball, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’ll never do it again! Please, just give me a chance to be good, I—”

There was a presence around him now, the cold but familiar metal of armor. With a shudder, he melted into its grasp, letting the tension flow out of him.

“Please… I’m sorry, Al. I can fix it, I promise, I’ll do everything I can…” 

His words were barely intelligible, separated by hiccuping sobs that caused him to twitch and stutter. He threw his arms around the armor, holding his brother like a lifeline.

“It’s okay, brother,” a voice whispered softly into his ear, “I’m here. ”

Ed made a pained noise in response, barely processing the words. His cries became weaker and weaker, until he finally sunk back into an uneasy but dreamless sleep.

* * *

The first thing Ed noticed when he woke up again was that he was curled up around Al. A cold, deep feeling poured through him, a vivid mixture of shame and embarrassment. He could feel the thin layer of sweat that caked his skin sticking slightly to the armor, making it feel like he was literally glued to his brother. 

“Not again,” he groaned, peeling his arms from his brother. He winced as the movement caused something in his neck to protest. He wasn’t sure how long he had been passed out like that, but it was evidently long enough for cramps to start forming. Rolling his neck, he suppressed the urge to yelp as a particularly painful twinge came from a muscle near the back.

“Brother, be careful.” A strong hand steadied him, preventing him from falling onto the floor. Heat bloomed across Ed’s face as he gently massaged the crick in his neck. Looking up at his brother, he saw two orbs of light peeking back at him, somehow expressing the sensation of concern.

“Thanks, Al. I’m… well, not fine, I guess, but better.” His glance slid away from Al, looking out at the walls. “Could you get my, uh…”

“Of course,” came the hasty reply. Al quickly but gently set him back on the bed, then scurried out of the room to get his meds. Even though it had been a year since he had started taking them, Ed still grimaced at the thought of needing pills just to be a functional human being, or at least something resembling one. Morning light filtered through the room, providing him clarity and time to reflect.

Obviously, he had been having another nightmare last night. He didn’t even live at the damn dorms anymore — Ed had been renting an apartment for the past year. And as for the Colonel… 

Bile threatened to rise in his throat as he remembered what the day held for him.

The silver pocket watch resting on his end table proved that he had finally regained his state alchemist certification. Given the circumstances, he had been mercifully spared the need to take the regular exam or demonstrate his abilities. All he needed was a psychological profile, but it was grueling beyond compare, tearing at the seams of his already ragged psyche. The nail in the coffin had been the decision offered to him at the end — be assigned to a new team, or return to his old one. 

Ed didn’t even have to think about his choice. His reputation preceded him, now more than ever. Before, they might have considered him the People’s Alchemist. Now, they probably knew him as the psychotic little freak who got himself thrown in the loony bin at the age of thirteen.

The thought of having to see everyone again after what he had done was horrifying, but it was the lesser of two evils, by far.

The clanking of metal against metal announced Al’s return to the room. The glass of water clutched in his left hand and the small bottles of pills held in his right looked almost comically small in comparison to his towering figure. He gently set them by the bedside table, right next to the watch. Ed downed them quickly, suppressing the nagging feeling that he was being judged. He noted with displeasure how light the bottle was. It was likely he needed to get it refilled soon.

As he wiped a fleck of water away from his cheek, Al spoke up.

“When do you want to call the Colonel?”

Ed made a face. Gently, he placed the glass of water back down on the bedside table, strategically placing it in a location where he couldn’t accidentally knock it over and cause any unexpected loud noises.

“Does it have to be today?” The grimace marring his face demonstrated he knew the answer to his own question.

Al looked sheepishly to the side, clutching his hands together. His body language made the answer obvious. Ed groaned, clutching his head.

“I can’t _believe_ they’re making _me_ tell him that I’m out of the asylum.” He leaned back in bed, grinning to himself. “Don’t know why they’d even trust a psycho like me to—”

“ _Brother_. Don’t call yourself things like that.”

Ed sat up a bit. Al was glaring at him sternly, clasping his knees with his hands as he leaned forward. There were few things in this world that got his brother so worked up, and Ed’s self-deprecation was one of them. Ed leaned forward, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Sorry, Al,” he replied weakly, sounding a bit deflated. Staring back at his brother, he tried to shoot a firm gaze in his direction. “I’ll… I’ll call him this afternoon, alright? If you’re there with me, I think I’ll be able to do it.”

He flashed a fragile smile that was gone as quick as it had come.

His brother’s shoulders slackened in relief. Ed hated the pity in his gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to protest it. He might be crazy, but even he could tell how much of a sad sack he was.

The rest of the morning had slithered by in a timeless interlude, a jumbled mess of fog and nothing. Night terrors aside, his daytime hallucinations had mercifully been kept to a minimum ever since he had started taking a regiment of antipsychotics every morning. The emphasis was on “minimum,” of course; he still occasionally caught a glimpse of the walls turning into pulsing, living flesh out of the corner of his eye, but they were just glimpses. 

As the sun was dragged higher and higher into the sky, the definition of time began to slowly shift as well. Ed could no longer deny that it was afternoon, and his call was in order. Mustang was a busy man, or at least he was quite busy _pretending_ to be busy, so it was better to do this sooner rather than later.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Alphonse was with him. He could do this.

His right hand lunged toward the rotary dial, and his muscle memory took the plunge.

Every ring of the phone was an eternity. The tension contained in the oscillating pitches seemed to infect his entire body, filling him to the brim with raw anxiety. Suddenly, it was cut short by the dull click of a receiver being picked up. A familiar busy silence filled his ear, a mixture of paper-shuffling, inaudible conversations and the sound of breathing.

“ _Colonel Mustang speaking_ ,” an incredibly bored sounding voice rattled off. Such a mundane greeting, but Ed savored it like water in the desert. This was likely the last time he’d hear the man sound so casual around him for a very long time.

He paused, thinking about the best way to introduce himself.

“You already know who it is,” Ed replied, idly wondering where all the fire in his voice had gone. He already knew the answer, of course: buried in the asylum with his dignity.

Silence. The pause stretched longer and longer, until it felt like minutes had passed with no words exchanged. 

“ _What? Fullmetal?_ ” 

Mustang was doing an uncharacteristically poor job of concealing his emotions. His voice was an octave higher than normal, and there was a subtle but noticeable tremble to his words. Almost as if he were afraid of the lunatic on the other end of the line.

Ed swallowed the lump in his throat. Deep breaths. If he started this conversation, he could finish it.

“They gave me my state alchemist position back,” he began to rattle off, not giving himself enough time to second-guess his words, “and they gave me a choice of whether to transfer to a new unit or go to yours, and I picked yours. I start work tomorrow. If you have any questions, call this number again. Bye.”

Before Mustang could get another word in edgewise, Ed slammed the receiver down, nearly cracking it on the stand.

“Brother,” a voice chided from the side, “you should have given him time to respond.”

Ed turned his head, glaring at his brother. A scowl tugged at his lips.

“I’m really…” he trailed off, briefly distracted by his own thoughts before clawing back to his original train of thought. “I’m really not interested in whatever oh-so-hilarious wisecracks he has to say. I’m sure he’s been practicing all his best one-liners about crazy people.”

“You know that isn’t true. And don’t call yourself crazy.” Ed could practically hear the finger-wag in his brother’s tone.

There was a certain level of uncertainty to Al’s voice, as if he genuinely couldn’t tell if the Colonel would really go there. Ed hoped he would; he was tired of being treated like an invalid and a child, even if it was true that he was technically both.

Ed grumbled wordlessly in response. He began to trudge towards the kitchen, ready to spend the rest of the day indulging in as many creature comforts as he could.

Tomorrow would take all the energy he could muster.


	2. Swimming Through A River Of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's day gets off to a rough start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice that the second chapter is over four times as long as the first! I am not good at this whole consistency thing. Also holy hell thank you so much for the positive response. It's modest in the grand scheme of things, but it really does mean a lot to me.

Sleep refused to come.

For what felt like days, Ed tossed and turned under sweat-soaked blankets, trapped in a bubble of escaped body heat and friction. Tensed muscles refused to relax, coiling in on themselves to shrink away from the world. The surrounding cityscape wasn’t helping: Light and sound polluted the darkness and silence, only partially dampened by the too thin walls of his cheap apartment. A dull glow lined the edges of the slits in his blinds, accenting the black void of his room with the soft orange of street lamps. Occasionally, cars would rumble past, beasts stalking the night. 

He rolled over for the billionth time and squeezed his eyes shut, tuning out the metal appendage pinching at his hip. A few minutes — or hours, or days, or weeks ago, who knew anymore — an engine had backfired outside, and the ensuing panic attack launched him through a noiseless spiral, dragged along by primal fears. If he could simply will the adrenaline in his blood to evaporate, or force his runaway heart to return to a steady pace, he might be able to pretend sleep was still a possibility. He tried pulling the covers over his head to prevent the light from invading his eyes, but when his breathing became labored from the stifled oxygen flow in his blanket cocoon, he threw them right back off.

Tentatively, his eyes fluttered open again. The lines on the window had transitioned from an artificial orange to a brighter, duller blue, indicating the cursed hours between night and morning. Tiredness radiated from the core of his body, punishing him for his sleepless night with a buzzing aura of fatigue. He could practically feel the sunken bags trying to weigh his eyelids closed.

All in all, a wonderful start to the day.

Edward sat up, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to wipe the sleep away. The zombie had risen from his grave. A strong aftertaste of meat and garlic lingered on his teeth, the remnants of dinner. Had he forgotten to brush his teeth again? Oral hygiene had slipped closer to the bottom of his priority list than he wanted to admit, but it didn’t stop a lump of shame from forming in his throat. A tension headache had firmly situated itself in his brain, the core of the aura of aching pain buzzing with raw energy around his head, wreathed like a halo above him. Appropriate, given that he felt like death itself.

“Good morning, brother.” 

Al rose as quietly as a walking suit of armor could, reaching towards a hanging string and opening the blinds with a flick of his wrist. The dam burst, and light freely bathed over the room, washing out the intensity of the shadows and saturating them in blue. The helmet of the armor turned, and two pinpricks of light gazed at him.

“Didn’t get any sleep?”

Ed sighed, resigned to the reality of the situation. “I guess that makes two of us, huh?”

Al hummed faintly in acknowledgement, walking towards the bed.

“Get ready to get out of bed,” Al called out.

Ed blinked, staring at him. “Wha—”

He tugged Ed’s arm, pulling him up from the covers and into the air. Ed made an undignified yelping noise, reminiscent of a small dog. He kicked away the rest of the sheets which still clung to his dangling legs. A hundred different statements fought to be said at once, jamming into each other and leaving him gaping like a fish instead.

Unceremoniously, he was gently lowered back to the ground, and once his scrambling feet had found stability, Al released his grip. Ed froze to the spot, ready for the nightmare to continue, but his brother simply walked out of the bedroom without a sound.

His sudden surge of fear quickly morphed into anger, and he stomped out of the room, the unequal cadence of his flesh and automail foot against the floor forming a strange, song-like rhythm. He wildly tossed his head around, his gaze primed to shoot daggers at his brother, who he found starting to cook breakfast.

“What the fuck was _that_ for?!” Ed tossed his hands in the air before crossing them against his chest. Al prodded the egg that was beginning to sizzle in the pan before responding.

“It got you out of bed,” he replied simply. Al’s attention returned to the kitchen, turning a knob on the stove a bit higher. 

Ed’s mouth opened and closed several more times. A serpent of impotent anger coiled around his throat, stealing his words again. He desperately wanted to shoot back that of _course_ he wouldn’t have done that, he would have gotten up on his own, that Al didn’t need to be treated like a senior citizen, but the words rang hollow even in his own head. The response was simple, but it concealed an ocean of unspoken truth.

If Al hadn’t forced him up, he would have lied in bed all day, sinking into a pit of his own misery until someone else intervened. Normally, Al was content to indulge him, but not when they had other obligations, and especially not when those obligations involved that stupid bastard Mustang. As much as he wanted to return to bed and lie in his grave, he decided that getting himself ready and presentable would give him a better chance at looking like a respectable human being.

Pins and needles pricked faintly against his fingertips, and a curious sensation passed over him, like he had narrowly avoided being run over by a train. His righteous anger evaporated, and with his narrowed focus gone, he felt his shoulders slump, steeped in a pool of his own uncertainty once more. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, the remnants of his indignation.

“Just give a bit more warning next time, alright? You scared the shit out of me,” he mumbled back. A crack in his voice emerged towards the end, and his quiet, shaky tone held no weight to it whatsoever.

Al quickly turned back to look at Ed, completely turning his attention away from the stove. It was sometimes hard to read his brother’s body language, but the unique mixture of tensed and slackened posture broadcasted his surprise as clear as day. Somehow, his pathetic reply had pierced him far deeper than any witty comeback might have managed.

“Are you… did I make you think you were in danger?” 

There was a poorly-concealed edge of panic lining the question. Ed’s eyes widened in horrified realization as his mind turned over the implications of his own words.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” He tried to stand up a little straighter, and held his head up high. “Al, I’m _fine_ . You don’t have to treat me like I’m five, alright? I mean, sure, I was scared at first, but anyone would be, right? It’s completely fine!” His voice had been progressively getting higher and more strangled-sounding as his rambling statement tumbled out. “You can do it every day if you want. I’m _fine_!”

His last statement was punctuated by his hands rising upwards, clenching themselves into fists. His mind was moving at a million miles a minute, composing a novel’s worth of excuses and arguments to prove he wasn’t crazy. 

Al completely abandoned the breakfast, stepping gently over towards Ed.

“I’m so sorry, brother.” There was a pleading edge to his tone that made Ed’s stomach lurch. “I know the doctors said not to do anything startling, b-but I thought—”

Ed shied away from his brother’s approach. Al flinched, looking hurt, but he barely registered it.

“The _doctors_ don’t know shit, alright?” He took a few more steps back, until he was bracing himself against a wall. They were moving around, as if searching for an exit from the situation. “You know me better than a bunch of shrinks and interns ever could. Don’t let them tell you how to treat me.”

Even though it was true Al had unnerved him a bit that morning, he truly appreciated what his brother had done. It was a call to action, a stimulating push to get him back on his feet. He was sick and tired of being treated like a fragile baby bird, a piece of glass who would forever fracture at the slightest push. Rather than understand the intricacy of his needs, they had neatly filed him away in a little corner, away from anything and anything that might possibly hurt him. He was stifled and locked up, swaddled in a never-ending sterile whiteness that was both terrifyingly empty and impossibly claustrophobic. To prevent him from using alchemy to escape, his left arm had been placed under constant restraint, to prevent him from clapping. He wasn’t allowed any writing materials, either for fear that he would use alchemy the old-fashioned way. His only distraction from his miserable excuse for a life was a pitiful selection of books, carefully chosen so as not to contain anything potentially upsetting.

It had been hell, purely and completely. Most days he simply lied in bed, staring at the ceiling. He refused to let himself die, propelled by thoughts of his brother. Whatever misery he was experiencing now, his brother’s was far worse. At least Ed could still feel. At least he still had a body that could feel. He would do whatever it took to get out of there, even if it was destroying him inside.

Thankfully, it had been months since the last time they had restrained him. If he didn’t make the doctors happy, he was never going to get out, never going to see his brother again, never going to see the outside world. He had been told he was making good progress, and he might be able to get out in a few weeks. A few weeks! Thinking about getting to be with his brother again nearly made him giddy in anticipation, but he suppressed the reaction. Random emotional reactions were a sign of insanity, and he wouldn’t be let out if they thought he was still crazy.

Suddenly, arms were around him, wrapping him tightly in their grip. His heart raced as panic swelled in his throat, and he writhed, struggling to free himself like his life depended on it. The only time the doctors put their hands on him so roughly was to force him into the straitjacket. Why was this happening? Hadn’t he been doing well? Had they just been pretending before? Or maybe he had hallucinated it. Maybe he was hallucinating right now. Was any of this real? Where _was_ he?

His mind lurched and turned backwards, away from its racing train of thought. His other senses returned, and he realized he wasn’t in the asylum, but lying on the floor of his own apartment, clawing at the air. The cold hardwood flooring pressed against his cheek, its slight chill reorienting him. A wave of relief briefly washed over him, but it quickly receded when a terrible thought struck him. With great hesitation, his eyes flickered over to his side, where he saw Alphonse.

His brother was still, hands partially outstretched towards Ed in a gesture that didn’t know what it wanted to be, torn between reaching out and pulling away. Terrified, Ed sat up, staring intently at the suit of armor, half-expecting that it would vanish if he looked away.

“Al.” His voice was uneven, caught between a question and a cry for help. “What happened?”

For a few moments, Al didn’t say anything. Ed realized how unfair he was being: If even he had no idea what was going on in his head, how was Al supposed to know? Eventually, his brother responded, sounding almost as unnerved as Ed was.

“Brother, you…” He stopped again, deliberating his choice of words carefully. “You said something about the doctors, and then you got really quiet. I said something, but you didn’t really respond, you were kind of just… staring at the floor. I thought you just got sad, and I tried to give you a hug, but I didn’t realize you were—”

“—hallucinating.” Ed finished the sentence with grim finality. He didn’t need to hear the rest of Al’s account to figure out what had happened. He trembled, standing up. “I was hallucinating.”

Reiterating it twisted the knife in his gut, but he needed to reaffirm that he was back in reality, even if reality was only marginally less shitty than his waking nightmares. He turned, unable to face his brother.

Ed shivered. “God, I’m sorry, Al. You don’t deserve this.”

“But it’s my fault!” Al’s voice was raised in anger, though Ed knew the anger wasn’t directed at him.

“It’s not your fault,” Ed replied heatedly, raising his shoulders. “Don’t ever think…”

His voice trailed off, and he frowned. Something seemed off, but Ed couldn’t put his finger on it. He turned around, and saw Alphonse looking confused by his sudden movement.

“Is something burning?” Ed asked, narrowing his eyes. The orbs of light that passed for Al’s widened in response, overcome by realization. He threw his hands to his head and leaned back.

“I forgot about breakfast!”

In a flash, he clambered over to the stovetop, attending to the pan which now had a thin trickle of black smoke rising from within it. 

Ed paused, taking the scene in. A small snort escaped him, which quickly turned into a light chuckle. It progressed into full-blown laughter, and Al briefly turned his attention away from the pan to shoot him a dirty look.

“ _You’re_ the one who has to eat this, you know!”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ed walked towards the bathroom, ready to clean himself up.

“Trust me, your burnt eggs are still a million times better than hospital food.” He shut the door behind him and turned the handle on the shower. It hissed to life, and dozens of streams of water burst forth, falling into the basin and circling the drain.

“Maybe I’ll burn them a little more, then!” Al yelled to be heard over the roar of the shower. Ed rolled his eyes, but felt his mirth die when he glanced up to see his reflection staring back at him.

He looked like shit, alright. The bags under his eyes were visible from space, contrasting sharply with the paleness of his skin. A sheen of sweat clung to his clammy skin, and Ed couldn’t tell how much of it was from his sleepless night or his recent hallucination. Unkempt hair fell loosely from his scalp, and tangled tendrils of strands snaked across his face and down his shoulders. 

Ed made a finger gun motion with his hand, pointing toward the mirror. He did his best impersonation of Mustang’s lady killer smirk.

“You look like shit.” He tried to say it like a compliment. The heat of the water beckoned him from the side, and he turned to take his pajamas off.

“I agree.”

His head whipped around. The mirror didn’t reflect his slack-jawed look of horror, as he was instead met by his image smiling cruelly at him. Red blotches of blood, warm and sticky, coated his skin, freshly drawn from some unspeakable source. His shirt was half undone, revealing wounds and scars that he knew he didn’t have, ominously covered by the ruffled fabric. Its eyes suddenly narrowed, and the smile was gone, instantly turned to a scowl.

“I hate you.” It’s voice was familiar, but alien, not his own. It was bitter and angry, pulling up unpleasant memories of Barry the Chopper he would rather have kept buried. “I hate you even more than you hate yourself. I bet you don’t even know why I hate you so much.”

A small voice at the back of his head was telling him he needed to get Alphonse. He tried to move toward the door, but found his whole body had locked up. He was a statue, frozen in place.

“You aren’t going _anywhere_ ,” his reflection hissed, clenching its fists. To his horror, Ed found his body mirroring the movements of his reflection, and his hands tightened up with an unnatural amount of force. His fingernails dug into the palms of his flesh, and it created a small wound that oozed through his clenched fingers. The reflection turned to face him more directly, and he found himself following suit. A small trail of blood droplets marked the white ceramic tiles of the bathroom, creating perfect circles where they landed.

“It’s not _just_ because you’re a garbage burden on your brother, _Edward_.” It lifted their heads upwards, and they stared at each other with withering glares. “Or because you’re a waste of oxygen freak who can’t tell what’s real.”

He was being used as a mouthpiece by the reflection, parroting everything it said in perfect synchronization. In a desperate bid, he tried speaking, if only to prove he still existed.

“You’re not real.” Ed forced the words through his lips, which came out distorted, as if his jaw was wired. The reflection frowned, then laughed, and Ed was forced to laugh along with him. It was raw, tearing at the lining inside his throat. When his gaze was turned back to the mirror, he saw a thin red line dripping from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

“Trust me, I’m _very real_.” His reflection stepped them closer to the mirror. Looking closer at his face, Ed’s attention was dominated by its eyes. He didn’t like looking at his own eyes very much these days, because their haunted, faraway, glazed look was like a vortex of misery, spiralling into the abyss. What stared back at him now, though, was different, and infinitely worse. 

They were sharp. Too sharp — so piercing they were actually painful. They were bright, coursing with an electric sort of energy that defied description, colorless and gripping. The pupils were narrowed to pinprick points, tiny holes barely revealing an unspeakable darkness behind them. Manic violence radiated from their glare. Ed was going to die.

“Let me tell you your worst quality of all.” His reflection raised their hand, revealing a butcher knife in its grip. Ed knew he shouldn’t have a knife, but he could see the cold glint of steel out of the corner of his eye. 

“You’re a thief. You’re not even human. You’re not even real.”

It raised the knife towards their throats. It was a slow, choppy movement, held back by Ed’s primal and desperate attempts to make it stop. It took every ounce of energy he had to make his arm move as much as it did, but now the edge was playing against the surface of his skin.

“I hate you. You took everything from me and Al.”

The knife plunged forward, embedding itself in his esophagus. The blade was freezing to the touch, almost as painful as the wound itself. The shower, still running, had its water overflow, gradually filling the entire floor with rising, scalding water. His feet were burning, numbed and destroyed beyond recognition. Water lapped against his charred flesh, turning it into a patchwork quilt of red and purple scars. 

“That about covers it.” Impossibly, his reflection still spoke, despite their destroyed vocal cords. His mouth moved to speak the words, but only gurgling noises bubbled forth from his mouth. “It’s about time for you to kill yourself.”

His hand jerked at blinding speed, tearing the knife still held in its sticky, bloody grip through his neck. It completely severed his head from his neck, decapitating him.

With a startled cry, Ed shot up, looking around wildly. 

His hands were still on his pajamas, midway through unbuttoning them. Steam was rolling through the room, making everything seem softer at the edges, blurred between reality and dreams. The mirror was completely fogged up, hiding his reflection. Nervously, he approached it, rubbing the mist off. Sad, frightened eyes stared back at him, sunken but familiar. The blood was gone.

Ed turned away, burying his face in his hands as he fell to his knees. The sobs that wracked his body were silent, suppressed through clenched teeth and a grimace. 

* * *

For the first time in his life, Roy Mustang cared about his paperwork.

With a careful eye, he pored over the entirety of the papers he had signed last week, leaving no stone unturned. Everything from the bold headers to the fine print so small it needed a magnifying glass to be seen was scrutinized, until he could have recited it in his sleep. His actual busywork for the day that he was supposed to be doing lay abandoned in a small pile on the floor, along with any pretense he would actually sign it. The acquisition forms for new pens could wait another day.

As his hand reached over to a small brown box, ready to grab another paper, he looked over his team. Each of them had a nearly identical box at their side, going over the contents with an equal level of precision. A tense, almost frustrated energy permeated the room, settling over them like a blanket.

After all, they still couldn’t believe that they’d been kept in the dark about Fullmetal’s return until now.

It defied every notion of protocol that Roy could think of. It flew in the face of common sense, like the universe was contorting in on itself to create a scenario that would only cause pain to anyone involved. Ignoring his building headache, he flipped over another form, staring a hole into the paragraphs of text stretched across the page. This was supposed to be Hughes’s job, but the man had been strangely evasive lately, and Mustang hadn’t been able to get in contact with him in time to avoid doing dirty work himself.

His legs felt like lead. Roy had spent most of last night deliberating over his options. Internal debates had locked him up for hours, leaving no time for a good night’s rest. Reconnecting with people after long periods of time had never been his strong suit, especially not when the only reason they hadn’t spoken was because they had been committed to a mental hospital, and _especially_ not when it was Fullmetal. 

To his eternal shame, some part of him had silently given up hope of ever seeing the boy again when they had stopped allowing him visitors, and his stay stretched past the one month mark. Holding patients for longer than a week was practically unheard of, and the exceptions weren’t expected to be released into the outside world. They tended to be consigned to a fate of being a medical oddity, picked apart by researchers like vultures clawing at carrion until nothing was left. Their last meeting hadn’t done much to dissuade that notion.

As his eyes passed over the page for the fourth time without absorbing the info, he growled and roughly flipped it back over, slamming it against the desk. He pushed the creeping memory of that encounter from his mind, filing it away with the rest of his nightmares. Focusing on anything that happened in the six months before they lost contact was the absolute last thing he needed to be doing right now. 

“Boss, I think I found something”

Roy’s gaze flickered to Falman, along with everyone else in the room. Once he managed to get over an impromptu case of stage fright, he continued, lifting a slip in his hands. He squinted at the paper, then began rattling off its contents.

“The following is the comprehensive list of exceptions to the 1913 State Alchemist Exam protocol, pending approval,” Falman began in his best public speaking voice. “The criteria upon which valid claims of exceptions are considered are… hold on, let me skip past the jargon.”

His eyes rapidly scanned down the page before slowing down to a more reasonable pace. Clearing his throat, he continued.

“Four exceptions have been approved. The personal details of one have been withheld, for medical confidentiality reasons.”

Such an innocent sounding statement. No wonder Mustang hadn’t thought twice about it when it glided across his desk yesterday. He knew his lackadaisical paperwork habits would bite him in the ass one day, but accidentally signing a declaration of war would have been a more pleasant experience.

“From the looks of it, this last exception is an allowance to bypass the typical exam requirements in favor of an intensive psychological evaluation.” Falman frowned, flipping over the paper. “That’s all that’s written here. Pretty sparse.”

Roy had seen these exceptions before. It was an unofficial veteran clause: Those who came back from the war in no duty to serve were welcome to try again later, with the added bonus of anonymity. The blood on their hands was proof enough of their skill. The idea of using war atrocities as leverage to rejoin the military made him sick, but it wasn’t a hill he could afford to die on. The exception seemed to be more of the same: An addled war hero, blowing in from God-knows-where to give it another crack. Never in a million years would he have imagined Edward was the one hiding behind the cloak of bureaucracy. 

“I suppose that’s that.” Roy slumped in defeat. For as much effort as he had expended in his quest for answers, the present refused to change. Fullmetal was coming on short notice, and they would simply have to accept the hand they had been dealt. Steeling himself, he looked over his team, who were patiently awaiting his next order.

“Everyone, get this place cleaned up.” He motioned vaguely around the room. “This is a severe fire hazard, and I know how much you all love to mess with my spare set of gloves when you think I’m not looking, _Second Lieutenant Havoc_.”

The stern calling of his own voice made Havoc jump into a salute in a Pavlovian reflex, even as a look of righteous indignation spread across his face.

“That was an accident!” he protested.

“Less talking, more working,” Roy replied sternly, loosely pointing a finger for emphasis.

Reluctantly, Havoc threw himself toward a pile of loose papers carpeting the floor, scooping them up.

Mustang briefly observed them dutifully cleaning like a colony of bees before receding into his own thoughts. The sound of shuffling forms and heavy lifting faded into the background, and he picked at an agonizing question once more: What was he supposed to say to Fullmetal when he finally arrived? He started with the only concrete evidence he had, which was yesterday’s phone call. Edward’s voice rang through his head, echoing his sendoff.

_If you have any questions, call this number again._

A small slip of paper, marked only by a sequence of numbers, poked out from a small area next to his pen holder, mocking him. Of _course_ he had questions, enough to fill several novel’s worth, but the idea of actually asking any of them made him want to wither into dust. What happened after they stopped allowing visits, how long have you been out? Is your brother with you? Do you need help with anything? Are you okay?

All he had right now was the worst collection of icebreakers ever conceived. Mustang had never been good with kids, especially not the kind that were temperamental at best and flung themselves into danger like it was going out style. There had to be a better way.

His hand moved to the phone, and as his finger hovered over the first number, he briefly considered swallowing his pride and calling Ed directly. But without pride, what would he be? His hands turned with lightning speed, dialing a number burned forever into his muscle memory.

It didn’t even take one ring for him to connect.

“Hughes,” he began seriously, clutching the receiver tightly in his hand. 

“ _Need something?_ ”

Roy took a deep breath. Of course he would act like nothing was wrong.

“I have something important to tell you.”

“ _Is it about Ed?_ ” Hughes replied nonchalantly.

“Y—”

The rest of the word died in Roy’s throat as he processed what he had been told. He began shaking in poorly-suppressed anger.

“Are you telling me—” 

“ _—that I knew?_ ” Hughes finished the statement, sounding guilty. _“I’m sorry, Roy, but his brother asked me not to tell you._ ” 

Mustang’s eyes widened slightly. “You talked to them?”

“ _Nah, just Al. I ran into him standing outside Central during the state alchemy exams, I think you must have been officiating the practical portion at the time._ ”

That was just about the only way Roy could have missed a seven-foot tall suit of armor stomping around the entrance, after all.

“ _I asked him what he was doing, and he seemed pretty guarded, but eventually he let slip that his brother was trying to get his certification back. He begged me to keep quiet about it until Ed actually passed._ ” There was a pause, like Hughes was debating whether to speak further on the subject. “ _He was acting even more protective than Ed was back then._ ”

The unspoken implications of the younger brother’s behavior made Roy’s stomach churn. Those two had always done everything together, and the few times they couldn’t seemed to exert a heavy toll on the both of them. Being separated for a full year must have been devastating.

“I see.” His mind was torn between two trains of thought, balancing them precariously. “Could you come over, then? He could be arriving any minute, and I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret.”

“ _He starts work_ today?!” Hughes gaped. His genuine surprise made it clear there had been a blind spot in his information network. The man quickly composed himself, masking his surprise. “ _Sure. I’ll be right over._ ”

With a click, the line went dead. 

Roy didn’t know what would be more painful: Trying to navigate his fraught relationship with the Elric brothers, or dealing with Hughes’s photo album for several hours on end. At least he wasn’t in this mess by himself.

* * *

When Ed stepped out of the bathroom, he was infinitely thankful Alphonse hadn’t noticed anything was wrong, or at least more wrong than usual. Sure, his face was haunted by primal fear, but his fight-or-flight response had been active so long it had hardened like amber and become his default state of being. He hated the melancholy look Al was giving him through the light of his eyes, but pity was preferable to horror.

Despite the distinct singed aroma that sharply tinted the air, breakfast tasted great. Al claimed he was out of practice, but Ed enjoyed his cooking more than ever before, and wasn’t shy about telling him so. Just being around his brother again elated him, imbuing him with the warm glow of home and family. He could almost forget experiencing two psychotic episodes before sunrise.

Ethereal ribbons of multicolored light began to peek through the rolling cover of clouds. The brothers watched the sunset together, entranced by the vivid array of pinks and oranges splattered across the sky like paint on canvas. 

“I read somewhere that the colors are caused by air pollution.” Al absentmindedly stared out the window. Light glared harshly off his armor, making him a painful sight to behold.

“Izzat true?” Ed lightly kicked his right leg forward in an even motion, quietly tapping his heel against his chair. “I guess that explains why they’re so much softer back home.”

“You think the sunrise looks different everywhere?”

Ed gazed into the clouds, careful to avert his gaze from the sun. 

“I don’t see why not. I mean, every location has a unique air composition determined by natural features and the potential effects of human habitation, for starters.” Ed quickly got into the rhythm of his impromptu lecture, doing energetic hand motions to emphasize his points. “Given the unique, almost unpredictable movement of weather patterns, every sunrise and sunset is one of a kind, sort of like a snowflake.”

“Wow…” Al marveled at the statement. The rising sun was beginning to mute the intense array of colors, replacing them with an all-encompassing blue. “I guess we should get going soon, huh?”

Ed sighed. All good things must come to an end, he supposed. He gently poked at the remnants of his breakfast with a fork, prodding the small darkened chunk of burnt egg he had avoided.

“Probably. Not exactly enthused about public transportation, though.”

Al looked at him. A suit of armor shouldn’t be able to convey so much pity.

“Don’t worry, brother.” Al slightly raised a fist, shaking it at nobody in particular. “If anyone tries anything, they’ll have to go through me first.”

Ed’s expression landed somewhere between a grimace and a grin. 

“Thanks for threatening to beat up random strangers on my behalf, Al.”

“Anytime, brother.”

Outside was cold and miserable. The stained glass moment of the sunset was long gone, replaced by omnipresent gray fog. People and cars glided in and out of view, making the world feel a bit unreal. Blurring the borders of truth was exactly what he didn’t need right now, but Alphonse’s steady presence nearby did wonders to stabilize him. It was like clinging to a rock in an ocean, grasping desperately to any solid land to avoid the frigid claws of death from dragging him to a watery grave.

Shaking his head, he looked down at the paved roads. He needed to get some less morbid analogies.

Gently, Al squeezed his hand.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, so quietly only his brother could hear it. 

They walked to the station just in time to see a bus pull away. Thankfully, the next one was only fifteen minutes away, but fifteen minutes could still feel like hours when everyone’s eyes were constantly glued to your back. He was starting to regret wearing his usual red cloak. He had always loved it for its arresting, attention-grabbing appearance, but now he just wanted to fade into the background. Of course, having a giant suit of armor following you around didn’t help, but he would never even entertain the idea of distancing himself from Al, not ever again.

The bus mercifully arrived, and Ed quickly shoved a handful of change into the drivers hand to pay for two tickets before quickly scurrying into the spot closest to the entrance. He wanted to be able to leave this thing as soon as possible. A steady stream of people entered in behind him, almost all of them glancing their way as they passed.

With a growling lurch, the bus sputtered to life, and they were moving forward. Ed let out a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving. The ride to headquarters wasn’t too long. Sure, it’d be out of the frying pan and into the fire, but he had much more experience with fire, courtesy of the Colonel. Who knows? This might even be a good day.

“Hey, I know who you are!”

Ed’s head whipped around to find the source of the loudly slurred statement, noticing a drunk man pointing an unstable finger at him.

His life was great comedic entertainment for mind readers. Pursing his lips together, he replied tersely. 

“The feeling isn’t mutual.” His voice had more ice than the winter-slicked streets outside. Anyone who wasn’t an idiot could have gotten the hint from a mile away.

“Yeah, I know you,” the man repeated, sounding more certain of himself. “You’re that kid!”

An idiot, then. Ed turned his head away, trying to ignore the man. Engaging with assholes on the bus was never a productive use of anyone’s time, let alone his. 

“What kid?”

Another moron had entered the fray. Ed closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The bus came to a temporary stop, and he braced himself on Al to avoid falling over.

“Don’t you read the news, idjit?” the first idiot slurred back, turning to face the second. “The Fullmetal Alchemist!”

The air temperature dropped several degrees, and a chill ran down Ed’s spine. He told himself it was just because of the bus door opening, letting in nobody but a howling gust of wind from an empty station, but he couldn’t ignore the razing sensation of eyes on him. It felt like everyone present had tried to shuffle away from him, like he could snap at any moment. There was a slight clattering of metal beside him. Al was quivering in rage.

“Oh, yeah, I remember now,” idiot number two said, scratching his chin. “He’s the crazy one, right?”

He remembered how angry he used to get when people would think Al was the state alchemist, lamenting that he never got the recognition he deserved. Stupid monkey’s paw bullshit. Ed hated this. The bus was only a block away from their stop, but it might as well be in fucking Xing for how distant his escape felt. His hand was locked in a death grip with his brother’s.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right.” Why was it that stupid people had voices that made them impossible to ignore. “I thought he was still locked up. You think he escaped or something?”

Ed’s feet didn’t even touch the floor when he scrambled out of the bus at his stop. He was dragging Al behind him, refusing to look backwards, as if escaping from a bomb.

They stood in the center of the empty courtyard in front of headquarters. Figures milled like ants at the fringes, bustling off to work.

“I can’t _believe_ that guy!” Al threw his hands up in the air, his angry tone echoing harshly off the acoustics of the armor. “What kind of jerk thinks they can go around talking about people like that?”

“Drop it, Al.” Ed was completely drained. His shoulders hung heavy at his sides, like a weight was dragging them down towards the core of the earth. “It’s not worth getting mad about anymore.”

“But…!” Al sputtered, his anger cooling in the cold air. 

A wistful smile spread across Ed’s face. Wasn’t this normally the other way around, with Al lecturing him to calm down? Eventually, his defeated attitude had won over his brother, and his posture drooped to match Ed’s.

“Okay… but… are you actually fine, brother?”

“No, but it isn’t going to get much better than this.” Ed’s voice had a hard, determined edge to it. Stiffening his shoulders, he stood up straighter. He refused to let this turn into a breakdown. Breakdowns were all he had been doing for the past year. The thought of walking into the office to call Mustang an asshole to his face dangled in front of him like a carrot, urging him onwards.

Al quickly followed the march he broke into, steadily making his way toward the entrance. There was something a little terrifying about the looming white edifice of headquarters, but Ed refused to let his mind wander off on another hallucination-inducing tangent. He had managed to avoid a mental breakdown during his commute, so that was progress, right? Stifling the voice in his head telling him that it was a pathetic bar to compare to, he climbed the steps, ignoring the feeling that the muscles in his legs were quickly turning to jelly.

Hopes that human interaction could be avoided on the way to the Colonel’s office were dashed when a man called at him as he passed.

“This area is off-limits to civilians.” He puffed his chest out, like he was proud of running off what he thought was a lost kid. Ed pretended not to notice the nervous glances toward the hulking suit of armor looming behind him.

He flashed his pocket watch, and muted sunlight glinted dully across its polished surface.

“Do I look like a civilian to you?” He would be lying if he said he wasn’t channeling his frustration at the bus incident onto this _mostly_ innocent man. The guard’s eyes narrowed, looking over the watch.

“How do I know you didn’t filch that off someone? Actually, hold on…” 

His eyes narrowed, examining Ed with a rapidly flickering gaze before suddenly widening.

“You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist!” he cried, taking a step back. “But I thought you were locked up? How did you get out?”

His life was a series of hellish repeats. He wanted nothing more in the world than to kick this guy’s ass so hard his mother couldn’t recognize him, but since Ed needed to prove he _wasn’t_ an unhinged maniac, he settled for an exhausted glare. Gently, he lay a hand on Al, who was getting ready to do what Ed wasn’t willing to.

“Good behavior.” Fatigue crept at the edges of his words, frayed and split. “Can you let me in now?”

“I can’t ignore the possibility that you escape,” he replied sternly, taking a step forward. “I’m going to hold you here while I get someone to make a call down to the asylum. I’m sure they’ll get everything sorted out.”

Ed felt something in him crack. If the asylum got a call about him, there was a good chance they’d take it as a sign to yank him right back in. Even if they didn’t, he couldn’t survive the utter _humiliation_ of being detained and kept track of like some kind of animal. 

Al was now standing inches from the man, projecting a dark shadow of malice upon him. The guard withered slightly, like a plant deprived of sunlight, but still stood firm. 

“You can’t.” It was a pathetic plea, but Ed had left his dignity at home today. He really would do _anything_ to just please make this man leave him alone.

“Actually, I can.” Was he smirking? Only one person was allowed to smirk at him like that. Ed hated that he had been robbed of his ability to slap some sense into people. You tended to lose that privilege when you slowly devolved into a psychotic freak before everyone’s very eyes, ranting and raving at nothing.

“Actually, you can’t.”

Three heads turned in unison to face a lanky looking figure, standing a few steps down.

“Hughes!” Edward cried, a disgusting amount of relief dripping from his voice.

“Long time no see!” Hughes waved at him, that same goofy smile Ed remembered plastered across his face. He couldn’t help but smile with him.

“Captain Hughes!” the man said with a salute. The guard didn’t sound half as pleased as Ed did. 

“While you may have concerns, please be aware they’re unfounded.” Hughes narrowed his eyes, shooting daggers with his gaze. “Or I’ll tell Colonel Mustang you’ve been harassing his subordinate.”

All of the blood drained from the guard’s face, and he wordlessly allowed them to pass. Once they were out of earshot of the entrance, Ed turned to Hughes, doing his damndest to pretend there weren’t tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry about that, Ed.” His voice was soft and steady, warm and patient. Ed didn’t realize how much he had missed it until he heard it again. The even tones crept into an aching void in his heart, and he clung desperately to the stability he had been denied for so long.

Something warm was creeping down his face. He hiccuped, and his hands trembled softly.

“It’s okay to cry, you know. I think anybody in your situation would.”

Hughes’s words flicked a switch in Ed, he threw himself forward, tightly grasping the man as he sobbed roughly into the blue fabric of his uniform. The muffled noises of tears still somehow rang loudly through the empty hallway, bouncing and echoing freely off its polished surfaces. Each time he cried, the hitching movement through his throat caused him to twitch.

A warm pair of hands circled around him, and Ed began crying even harder.

He didn’t know how long it took him to attain something resembling composure, but eventually he found himself leaning against the wall, looking dully at the floor. Calmness washed over him, the peace after a long rain.

“Sorry about your uniform,” Ed mumbled towards Hughes’s feet. 

“What, this?” Ed couldn’t see what he was doing, but he saw a tugging motion crease at the fabric. “This is nothing. You should see what Elicia does to it if I forget to put it up.”

“Thanks.” The corners of his lips turned upward. “I dunno if a three-year-old is the best bar for me to compare myself to, though.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never lived with a three-year-old.” 

A hand extended downward, offering him a lifeline. Ed eagerly took it, pulling himself to his feet. He stared into Hughes’s smiling face. His smile widened, then faltered as his self-awareness slowly returned.

“Man, I don’t wanna walk in looking like this,” he grumbled. He was already a complete sad sack, he didn’t need to have the salt trails of tears ghosting across his face to sell the image even harder.

“We still have a lot of time before work starts. Why don’t we both go get cleaned up? You too, Al,” he motioned toward the suit of armor, which had been staring with more than a bit of jealousy at the exchange. “You seem a bit ragged.”

Ed flinched, grimacing as he pulled into himself a bit.

“That’s my fault.” His head lowered toward the floor. 

Hughes looked like he was regretting his choice of words.

“Nothing is your fault, Ed, you’ve just got a lot going on. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed, right, Al?” 

His brother nodded vigorously. Ed didn’t believe their reassurances, but he was soothed nonetheless.

As it turned out, Hughes was quite the expert at removing evidence of crying. When pressed about this, he enigmatically answered that one of his friends gave him a lot of experience on the subject, but wouldn’t elaborate. Ed had taken it upon himself to repair the dented and rusted metal of the armor, flagrantly taking the spare iron from fixtures across the bathroom, which Hughes had taken a walk outside for. It both deprived the incident of witnesses and let him act as a lookout to prevent anyone from accidentally wandering in and seeing a living suit of armor. Ed felt good using alchemy for something constructive again, instead of using it as a weapon to lash out at shadows and monsters that didn’t exist.

Ed looked over the interior of the armor, frowning as his eyes caught the blood seal. It wasn’t done with the careful precision he normally used, as the blood was way thicker than he normally applied. It was lumpy in its consistency, which nauseated him.

“This looks like it was refreshed… fairly recently.” He hovered a finger over it, deathly afraid to actually touch it. “When did that happen?”

“You don’t remember?” Al’s voice rang from the inside of the helmet. The tone of voice made it clear it wasn’t a rhetorical question, which could only mean one thing. A heavy sigh escaped Ed’s lips.

“I don’t. Did I do this while I was at the asylum?”

His brother made a small affirmative noise, and Ed felt his heart make a strange, panicked leap as his eyes widened.

“How is that even possible? I’m pretty sure they never would have given me any sharp objects to draw my own blood with.”

Al made an uncertain noise.

“Brother, do you remember anything about your last meeting with the Colonel?”

Ed couldn’t quite place the tone of his voice, but whatever it was made him violently uncomfortable. He shook his head, looking away from Al.

“...Do you want me to tell you?”

“Not right now,” he replied a little too quickly. “Once I get settled into this, maybe.”

“Okay.” Al sounded more than a little relieved himself, which ironically put Ed on edge. He quietly shelved that anxiety for the time being, replacing it with the much more immediate and pressing anxiety of his meeting.

“You’re just about all cleaned up.” He projected his void loud enough that, say, someone standing right outside could have heard it and coincidentally walked back in. Ed hastily placed the helmet back on the armor, and Al readjusted it as he rose to his full height.

“Hey, nice job, Ed!” Hughes said as he entered and saw the sparkling finish Ed had put on the armor. He felt a blush creep up his face.

“Do you know if the Colonel is in yet?” Thankfully, his awkward attempt to change the subject was met with grace.

“As a matter of fact, I do, and he is,” Hughes replied. “He’s the one who called me in. Between the two of you, I’m not sure who’s more nervous about this meeting.”

Ed frowned. “I’m not…” His already weak anger flickered. “Okay, yeah, I’m nervous.”

Hughes gave him a supportive pat on the back. “You’re gonna kill it, champ.”

Ed’s glower returned. “What are you, my dad?”

He really hoped Hughes couldn’t look inside his soul and see the part of him that dearly wished that was the case.

Thankfully, he was simply met by a good-natured laugh.

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for kids.”

He rolled his eyes. Despite the anxiety that continued to gnaw at him, he felt a bit more confident about this whole endeavor. It felt less like a death march and more like a battle he could actually win.

The walk to the office was filled with a warm silence, putting the wind back into Ed’s sails. As they stood in front of the door, the smooth mahogany surface begging ominously, a distinct cocktail of fear, pride, and sadness bubbled within him.

“…would you both walk in with me?” he asked softly. “I mean, just because it's been so long and everything.” 

“I’d be honored to, Ed.”

“Of course, brother!”

He looked at them both, and put on his fiercest, strongest smile when he stared back at the doors.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

His hands curled around the handles. In a leap of faith, he swung the doors open, and there he was.


End file.
